ouch... OUCH!!!

I am of the opinion that it is a good idea to keep yourself in a presentable state. Keep your hair maintained. Shave or keep up the trimming of your beard. This even applies to body hair. Legs, perhaps not, but chest hair should not be all out of control.

And yes, this also applies to where the sun don't shine. Not only is it nicer to look at a well maintained crotch, it's just polite. I mean, really. Who likes to be picking hair out of your mouth when you've been rather friendly with someone?

Seeing as a group of people see me naked at least once a week, it is rather important that I keep up with all these personal hygiene routines. Well, for anyone that has ever had to shave anything on their body on a regular basis, you might very well be familiar with a certain malady that accompanies frequent shaving - ingrown hairs.

Now think about having an ingrown hair in that special place. An ingrown hair that is irritating and painful. An ingrown hair that is preventing me from... umm... taking care of other matters.

This is not a good situation.

Demon Spawn

I'm in a coffeeshop having lunch, taking care of a few matters for my next yoga fundraiser. There are two toddler boys running around, screaming, yelling, climbing on things. I have tried to trip them no less than 4 times.

They are annoying me to no end. And the parents? "Matthew Collin... will you please sit down." "Andrew... if you sit down I'll get you a cookie."

Great. Just what's needed. Bargaining with sugar.

Tasty, flavorful snacks

I ride my bike to work most mornings, and I have a fairly set route that allows me to dodge most traffic heading into downtown. Since I travel this route regularly, and am quite familiar with all the houses, potholes, and dog walkers, I do tend to zone out slightly. However, when I round a corner and see a tall, attractive, naked man leaning over a series of grey plastic trash barrels, it definitely catches my attention.

I slow down slightly and give him a slightly gutteral “morning.” He quickly lifts his head from his task, his bright eyes instantly connecting with mine. “Morning,” he replies with a smile. When I ask what he’s doing, he very casually responds that he’s washing peanuts in order to season them and sell them as snacks.

“Washing… peanuts…” I think to myself. Kinda odd. Only after I myself lean over the trash barrels do I realize what he’s talking about. In each of the three consecutive barrels are hundreds of Styrofoam packing peanuts floating in water.

“Interesting,” I finally say out loud. “Need some help?” I ask, as if it’s the obvious reply in such a situation. I mean, really. Attractive naked man. Washing Styrofoam packing peanuts. What would you do?

As I start helping him dunk, strain, and lay the peanuts out to dry, another cyclist rides up, also asks what we’re doing, and offers to help. He’s cute-ish. Not my type (translation – shorter than 6’2”), but not bad eye candy.

At this point, the entrepreneur states, absent-mindedly, that he needs to apply sunscreen to his legs. Nothing too out of the ordinary about that statement. This is Texas. In June. It’s damn hot. However, the not-totally-cute cyclist offers to help. My ears perk up. I look over and watch him apply sunscreen to hot, naked guy’s calves. To his thighs. To his inner thighs.

At this point I’ve stopped washing the peanuts and start to think, “Hey, haven’t I seen this porn?”

It’s when not-so-cute guy starts to ensure that our studly entrepreneur won’t get sunburned where the sun don’t shine that I drop what I have in my hands and walk over to… help.

The rest… well, I can leave that up to your imagination. All I can say is that with two and one-half months left before I get to see Brit Boy again, I can only imagine that my dreams are gonna get more and more… um… explicit.

There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza...

Apparently, butts can make holes in walls. I was informed of this earlier today.

While I'm stuck in suburban, midwestern hell, Sincerity is having a lot of fun back at the house. There were... shenanigans on Friday night. I like shenanigans. Shenanigans are lots of fun. Partly cuz the word, shenanigans, is fun to say.

These shenanigans, however, made a slight detour somewhere along the way.

Headstands and handstands are difficult yoga poses to master. It takes time to learn all the intricacies of the poses, as well as to learn how to best use your body to hold each pose. I should note, as a professional, that yoga while inebriated is not a wise idea. Especially poses that flip your legs up over your head.

The consequences can be rather severe.

Fucking Kansas!

I'm in the suburbs. Suburban hell. Suburban, midwestern hell. Suburban, midwestern hell, with my mother.

Everyone kept telling me that it's only for a weekend. Only two days. Well, it's been less than 24 hours, and I'm ready to be home. My brother is here with me, for which I am very thankful, but there are reasons I only visit my mom once a year.

I might not be as upset if my mother hadn't started chastising me for chatting online with Brit Boy last night, rather than talking with my family. Well, that was the first opportunity in at least a week and the last opportunity for me to chat with Brit Boy for the next two weeks or so, as he's buggering off into the mountains of some-such-i-stan in Central Asia. I tried to inform my mother of this, but she was insistent. So now I'm being a grumpy Gus. A pissy Peter. An annoyed Andre. I swear, I feel the urge to revisit my teenage angst and just turn on my iPod, start reading a book, and completely ignore her.

Dramatic?!??! Moi?

Oh, and I'm trying to put the final touches on a yoga fundraiser I'm organizing for next weekend, while I'm several hundred miles away. And it's so NOT working. Frustration level is high.